


Canaries

by kyrieanne



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, F/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7935301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrieanne/pseuds/kyrieanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes love needs a little push and a shot of expresso...</p><p>A coffeeshop, Canaries, opens seemingly overnight across from Queen Consolidated, and Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak each find themselves drawn to the corner shop and to one another. They couldn't be more different: him, a rich CEO with a carefully planned out future, and her, a brilliant woman hiding in the IT department from a painful past, but they discover a friendship that challenges every assumption they have about themselves.</p><p>Canaries is no ordinary coffeeshop. Your favorite table is always free. The coffee is exactly what you didn't know you needed, and for Oliver and Felicity they inexplicably always show up at the exact same time. Then there's the proprietors - the Lance sisters, Laurel and Sara, and Sara's girlfriend Nyssa - each with her own secrets. Whatever Canaries is...well, it's a mystery and Felicity Smoak hates mysteries. They need to be solved.</p><p>A coffee shop AU...with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to stars-inthe-sky for patiently introducing me to the nuances of coffeeshop AU's when I decided I wanted to write one. Also to lulabo & fulltimeprocrastinator for feedback and friendship. Giant, echoing thanks to go to nvwhovian for beta-ing and alienat81 for cheerleading. To the OFBB organizers - THANK YOU for all the behind the scenes work.

 

 

                         

 

 Once, Felicity won a trivia contest with a fact about canaries that changed her life.

The canary’s song saved lives. It was used in mines, deep within the earth, to offer warning of impending danger. 

Miners carried the yellow bird into shafts because carbon monoxide build up would kill the canary, cutting it’s song short, before it became noxious for men. When the bird stops singing—that’s when you know to escape.

 

Felicity’s not sure how she learned this, but she knew it that night in the bar just off campus, and it won her team the championship. She forgets what the prize was. Probably warm beer and bragging rights, but she does remember what that night gave her:  Cooper. 

 

His team had been defending champions; afterwards, he introduced himself to her. She leaned her elbow onto the bar and tipped her head, which is Felicity’s tell when she’s flirting, and he asked her how she knew that thing about canaries? 

 

“What thing? Oh, that? Doesn’t everyone?” 

 

She might have said that. She might have said something else. She can’t remember because who cares about canaries? Not when what happened next was both a love story and a tragedy.

 

Later, after Cooper, Felicity moves to Starling, and she remembers how that night had been so ordinary. It would have been like every other night before it, largely unremarkable, but she’d known that fact about canaries, and then Cooper crossed the bar to talk to her and for a short, brief, bright instant Felicity experienced a terrifying happiness. It was the kind that always left her. Still, at night she traced circles into her pillow while Cooper slept beside her, snoring softly, and she whispered promises to the universe. 

 

_Give me this, and I’ll never take it for granted._

 

_Maybe it isn’t me after all._

 

_Maybe I’m not all wrong._

 

The happiness Felicity had with Cooper felt like a miracle, and for the first time in her life, Felicity believed such things were possible…

 

But today…today is not one for hopes whispered into pillow cases, or songs that save lives. Today, Felicity thinks of canaries because the woman in front of her is wearing yellow. Bright, blinding yellow. Cooper would have called her big bird; Felicity flinches. She hates it when her brain does that — forget that Cooper is dead. It’s the worst kind of betrayal. 

 

Felicity and the woman stand single file in the meandering Queen Consolidated security line. The only upside is if Felicity is late for her first day of work her boss certainly can’t blame her. Around her are people in suits, and Felicity tugs on the cuffed sleeve of her button down. Her shoes are a sensible two-inch heels and she hates them. There is nothing fun about a stacked heel. She clutches her laminated ID badge tight, but turns it over so she won’t have to look at the photo. The woman with blonde hair in a tight, low ponytail feels like a stranger. Felicity doesn’t recognize her. She thinks about the canary and how sad it is that a bird’s song is used to signal death. 

 

_Cooper likes how random my brain is. Liked. Liked. Liked._ Past tense. Her jaw aches from tightening whenever she thinks about him. Past tense. Cooper is the past, and today, Felicity lectures to herself, is about the future. So she pushes the thought of canaries - and the memories of that night and Cooper - away. She smiles at the security guard as he waves her through. 

 

His name tag reads Glen and she makes note of that. She and Glen will be seeing a lot of each other. Starling and Queen Consolidated is her new beginning. Eventually, _this_ will be familiar right down to the girl on her ID. She’s promised herself she’ll see this through. She’ll learn to be strong again. 

 

If that trivia night had been the start of something magical with Cooper, then today is the beginning of something safe and it looks like Glen will be her buddy in safe. It’s his job. He even looks the part:  skin the color of toffee and the best smile Felicity has ever seen. It’s wide and easy. Felicity envies him. Recently, she can only muster thinned lips in a straight line. 

 

“I don’t see why you can’t start over here in Vegas. With me.” 

 

That’s what her mother, Donna, had said when she dropped Felicity off at the airport last week. 

 

Felicity had jerked a thumb toward the security gates. “I need to go.” 

 

Then her mother cupped Felicity’s face between lacquered nails, and Felicity indulged this last gesture. 

 

“If that city can bring back my baby’s smile then I guess it’s worth it.”

 

It actually hurt when Felicity offered Donna the faint, tight lipped smile in response. It hurt to see Donna tear up. The numbness in the pit of Felicity’s stomach hurt too. She hadn’t known the lack of something, that emptiness, could be so sharp.

 

Today, that same lonely ache claws at her as Felicity stands in the lobby of Queen Consolidated, with it’s two-story arched glass walls and people crossing, phones held up to their ears, and her standing among them as ordinary as everyone else. 

 

_This is what you want_. 

 

She wants ordinary because ordinary means safe, and for Felicity ordinary looks like this:a solid corporate job, amodest condo, and becoming friends with Glen-the-security-guard. She wants to wake up in her full-size bed big enough for her and no one else. To pass through those doors and wave to Glen. Day after day. A thousand times where the only variance is the color of her nail polish. She wants to never feel as helpless, guilty, and numb has she has since Cooper. She wants to want babies and baseball games and backyards. To wear business casual and to tell ridiculous Donna stories to scandalized neighbors over brunch. 

 

_This is what you’ve decided._

 

Here in this place she _will_ become ordinary despite never being before. She was born a genius. Her brain worked faster than most people. It’d been her brain that brought Cooper into her life, and it’d been her genius that put him in a situation in which he’d rather die than live. Felicity understood rationally there is some twisted logic in that thought, but it’s how she feels today and how she’s felt for months. She’s never been a robot, but emotions are her mother’s currency. Felicity is not typically ruled by them. 

 

_I’m so damn tired of being sad._

 

Cooper had sold her on the conviction that she could change the world; naively, she believed they’d be modern heroes. It’s still a nice idea, Felicity thinks, despite knowing now that heroes only exist in stories, where grief and guilt are much simpler. Even if she doesn’t believe in miracles anymore, Felicity is hopeful, today, on the official beginning of her ordinary life. 

 

_Maybe safe can be it’s own kind of magic?_

 

Certainly, all those people living in cul-de-sacs, who choose their careers with college tuitions for future kids in mind, and who surround her now streaming up to their cooperate jobs — they chose safe because there’s got to be a goodness, a beauty, in the common? 

 

She’s betting that they are right and she was wrong. Felicity isn’t used to being the last one to figure out the answer, but if being wrong is the price she has to pay for convention trumping heroics then she will pay up gladly. Growing up in Vegas, Felicity learned:The. House. Always. Wins. In this case, the house is this quotidian life. Let it win. Prove her younger-self wrong. May this life be better than her day dreams of making a difference through 1’s and 0’s. Make her happy, or at the very least let her find the ability to smile for her mother, to reassure her. This is why Felicity is in Starling. It’s why she dyed her hair blonde and bought that awful pink button up shirt for her first day of work. Yet, as Felicity squeezes into the elevator with everyone else all she can think about is the damn canary. 

 

_They deserve better._

 

Felicity snorts because this is who she is now. She’s the woman standing in a metal cage, groaning up to her cubicle, sweating in her ugly shoes, and worrying about imaginary birds. 

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes love needs a little push and a shot of expresso...
> 
> A coffeeshop, Canaries, opens seemingly overnight across from Queen Consolidated, and Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak each find themselves drawn to the corner shop and to one another. They couldn't be more different: him, a rich CEO with a carefully planned out future, and her, a brilliant woman hiding in the IT department from a painful past, but they discover a friendship that challenges every assumption they have about themselves.
> 
> Canaries is no ordinary coffeeshop. Your favorite table is always free. The coffee is exactly what you didn't know you needed, and for Oliver and Felicity they inexplicably always show up at the exact same time. Then there's the proprietors - the Lance sisters, Laurel and Sara, and Sara's girlfriend Nyssa - each with her own secrets. Whatever Canaries is...well, it's a mystery and Felicity Smoak hates mysteries. They need to be solved.
> 
> A coffee shop AU...with a twist.

 

                     

_a year later_

**Retail Space for Rent**

**Inquiries - Contact League Management**

 

The sign stops Felicity in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s not a very convenient place to stop. People jostle around her, but she hardly notices. The sign leans haphazardly in the front window of a corner store. It sits across the street from Queen Consolidated, a two-story building made of brick with pre-War craftsmanship and charm. Next to it is a bodega, followed by a salon, and a Chipotle retrofitted into the older space. It is a humble building next to the sky scrappers made of steel and glass. Whoever owns it could make a fortune selling the land to a developer, but for some reason they hadn’t cared to seize the opportunity. 

 

Felicity isn’t thinking about any of this, however, as she stares at the sign. Rather, she blinks. What had been there before? A prick of panic contracts every muscle in her body. She contemplates ditching her coffee, getting back on the bus, and crawling back into bed. Let’s start the day over; undo this. 

 

It’s not really about the for rent sign. 

 

Felicity has passed this shop everyday for a year. On Fridays, she walks past it twice because she detours several blocks over to purchase coffees for herself and Glen from a kiosk.  It’s their ritual to drink coffee and swap weekend plans every Friday. Felicity helps him finish the crossword, and he listens to her talk. It can be about anything. He listens and that means everything. The coffee really is terrible, but it’s the closest option and Felicity keeps up the coffee and her Friday ritual with Glen faithfully. It makes her happy. 

 

Felicity no longer feels an overwhelming sense of dread when she shows up at work. The blonde on her ID is recognizable. That’s who she is: Felicity Smoak, IT girl. There are days when she doesn’t think of Cooper until the evening, and there are even weeks where she doesn’t tear up from the overwhelming sense of loss of him—and of herself, of that woman had wanted to take the world apart and rebuild it so it was just.

 

That woman has found a new purpose in the smaller pursuit of being happy. And she was happy. She was.

Happy as most at least. Felicity used to be good at change, but now even the most mundane one like something new going into the corner store feels scary. 

 

That’s what this is about.

 

Felicity tells herself she’s being ridiculous, and goes on about her Friday. But later on her way to the bus stop she stands again in the middle of the sidewalk and stares at the empty storefront. 

 

Things are changing and the wild, desperate thought that she’s not strong enough flutters back up.

 

*** 

 

A coffeeshop called Canaries takes over the empty corner store, and it seems to appear overnight. 

 

Felicity’s been paying attention to the darkened windows and _For Rent_ sign. Then one morning it’s gone and there are punch yellow awnings. Drawn onto the window are three birds in silhouette sitting on a branch. A chalkboard easel sits next to the front door, and on it with intricate flourish someone has lettered: 

 

**_Deja Brew_ ** — **_The Feeling You’ve Had This Coffee Before_ **

 

It makes Felicity smile and she checks her watch. She doesn’t have time to stop in and buy a cup, but she promises herself she will on Friday. Her apprehension about this storefront is ridiculous. Visiting Canaries will prove nothing has truly changed. She’s as adaptable as ever. 

 

Except Felicity doesn’t stop in the next day or for the rest of the week because as soon as she steps into QC that morning Glen flags her down at security, “Did you hear?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Oliver Queen is back.” 

 

***

 

Oliver Queen doesn’t know Felicity exists, but that doesn’t stop her from blaming him for ruining her week. 

 

Every department head at Queen Consolidatedis falling over themselves to impress the returning prodigal son. This includes Felicity’s boss, Mr. Collins, who is incompetent on a normal day, and insufferable this week. He think being the boss means he snaps fingers and the work magically gets done. Felicity has to bite her tongue when he barks at them about the department’s backlog of work orders. 

 

Felicity is pretty sure Oliver Queen doesn’t care about the IT department as long as he can download porn onto his computer. They aren’t International Acquisitions. During his five years abroad, Oliver Queen grew that department into Queen Consolidated’s highest grossing venture. He took what had been primarily a technology company, and transformed it into an international juggernaut with innovation in development, finance, and, of course, technology. Felicity would bet that Glen is more important than herself or her boss. Still, the man warns they better clear their schedules. Impressing Oliver Queen is going to mean late nights. 

 

“Felicity, what are you still doing here?” 

 

It’s well past midnight on Friday. Felicity stands in the middle of the airy Queen Consolidated lobby. She’s checking her phone. The lobby is empty save the cleaning crew and Glen, seated, as always, at his security desk. Glen’s chuckle draws out Felicity’s tired smile as she crosses to the desk and leans on her elbows.

 

“You work too hard,” he says. 

 

“Brenda bribed us with Big Belly.” 

 

“You mean you convinced her to order in?” 

 

“Maybe,” Felicity winks. “Mr. Collins went home at lunch so she was easy pickings.” 

 

Brenda is the assistant to Felicity’s boss, and keeper of his company credit card. She’s stickler for rules, but Mr. Collins is so ridiculous that even straight-laced Brenda is happy to rebel from time-to-time. She’d winked when Felicity suggested the idea and special ordered Felicity’s go-to burger for the coder. 

 

“And were you the last one up there?” Glen arches a single eyebrow and Felicity straightens. This is a well worn fight between the two of them. Glen loves to point out that even in IT she can’t hide how good she is at her job. 

 

“This wasn’t me overachieving. I just wanted to get my software upgrade done. Everyone is twitterpated by _the Oliver Queen_ ,” Felicity rolls her hand “so Mr. Collins won’t even notice the upgrade, which saves me from having to explain to him _again_ that he’s wrong about this API. So really I was doing myself a huge favor, and I can thank Oliver Queen’s golden balls or whatever it is about him that causes people to forget how to act like rational human beings at the sound of his name.” 

 

There’s a cleared throat and Felicity jumps. Standing behind her is Walter Steele, CFO and step-father to the golden-balled Oliver Queen. Felicity sqeaks. Walter steps up to the security desk and hands Glen a rolled up newspaper. “Thank you for lending this to me.” 

 

“Not sure what I’m gonna do with yesterday’s news,” Glen says. 

 

Both men laugh. Walter raises an eyebrow in her direction.

 

“Firing me would be a major error for this company. I’m without a doubt the single most valuable member of your technical division. That includes my so-called supervisor.” 

 

Walter Steele has one hell of a poker face because he just stares at her and Felicity is rooted there wishing the floor would open up beneath her. What possessed her to say something like that? How much does she have in savings, and will it be enough to cover rent? 

 

Then Walter blinks and looks to Glen, “She’s the one you were telling me about, right?” 

 

Glen lets out a full-bellied laugh and Felicity’s eyes ping-pong between them. 

 

“Ms. Smoak, you’re not going to be fired.” Walter says in that crisp British accent of his. “At least not for stating the truth about my wife’s son.” 

 

“He has golden balls?” 

 

Walter coughs and Felicity wonders if there’s a medical diagnosis for the way her brain says things. 

 

“I meant the general way people have reacted to the news of his return. It’s refreshing to hear that not everyone is…what word did you use? Twitterpated.” 

 

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure people have been fired for less, and after…referring to his genitals multiple times I’d understand if you…,” Felicity draws a finger across her neck. 

 

“I admire people who speak the truth when few do. Also, Glen has sung your praises to me multiple times.” 

 

Felicity’s head swivels to her friend, whose eyes twinkle. The knowledge that he has boasted about her overwhelms her. She bites her lip to keep the prick of feelings contained. 

 

Glen leans forward, “I was telling him about the machine you’re building me. The security one.” 

 

Felicity pushes her glasses up, “It’s software actually. Facial recognition software. Glen won’t have to stop every person to scan their badge. The software will recognize employees and flag anyone unauthorized. The lines will move faster, which should make everyone happy. They say the average person spends two years of their life waiting in line. Do you know how many Dr. Who episodes you could be watching?” She grimaces as she trails off. “This is all theoretically of course. I wouldn’t be spending my work hours developing unassigned projects.” 

 

Walter clears his throat. “When you’re finished with this theoretical project, Ms. Smoak, I’d like to see it. Make an appointment with my secretary.”

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yes,” he picks his briefcase up, “if you’re as valuable as you and Glen say you are then I’d like to hear more of your ideas.” 

 

Walter nods to Glen, who waves, and then he is gone through the double glass doors to what Felicity assumes is home and his family. 

 

When he is out of sight Felicity’s knees sink a little. “Did that just happen?” 

 

“It did.” Glen picks up the phone on his desk. 

 

Felicity blinks back tears. She’s not sure where they are coming from, but her heart beats fast in her chest and she shakes her hands out. It’s the whirring thrill of possibility, of risk, and the sweetness of reward. It’d been so long since she’d let herself show off like that, and remembering how much good it feels to punctuate people’s impression of her by actually trying to make one. Joy steals her breath for a moment. 

 

Glen nods toward the street where a car pulls up, “I called you a driver.” 

 

“What? Why?.” 

 

“It’s late and I know you were just going to take the bus home.” 

 

This is another old argument between her and Glen. He didn’t approve of her condo in the Glades, but Felicity swears it’s safe. (Safe-ish might be the more honest description.) 

 

“Mr. Diggle will be happy to take you home,” Glen says and cuts her off before she can say anything, “Do this for me and I won’t say a word about the fact that you’ll be back in the office tomorrow. On a Saturday.” 

 

Felicity smiles indulgently. A year ago she couldn’t have been able to do that and she hadn’t had a reason to. 

 

“You’ve got a deal,” she says and heads toward the door. 

 

Felicity spots Mr. Diggle through the glass and he might be the biggest man she’s ever seen, muscular and built like a soldier. Glen’s protective streak certainly isn’t subtle. Before she pushes outside she looks back at her friend, who is unfolding the day old newspaper, and calls out, “I’ll keep your secret.” 

 

“Which one,” he says without looking up.

 

“That you’d give a Jewish grandmother a run for her money.” 

 

*** 

 

“You really don’t have to walk me inside,” Felicity tells John Diggle when he pulls up in front of her condo. 

 

She sees him glance at her front steps and the porch light that has never worked. 

 

“It’s safer than it looks.” She says. 

 

He makes a skeptical grunt and gets out of the car. Felicity scrambles after him and she notes the way he hovers near her, but never so close to invade her personal space. 

 

From their conversation in the half-hour it took to get across town Felicity has surmised that John Diggle is an exceptional human being. He was a veteran and devoted uncle. His gig as a driver was secondary to that of personal security for the Queen family. Felicity had been tempted to ask about the wayward son, but she decided she’d rather hear Diggle talk about his nephew. 

 

“I promised Glen I’d make sure you made it home safe.” 

 

“All you Jewish grandmothers are alike,” Felicity mutters as she digs for her keys. Several texts from Barry litter her phone screen, but Felicity decides he’ll have to wait until tomorrow. She’s so tired she might not make it upstairs to her room; the couch is too tempting at the moment. 

 

Felicity digs out her keys in triumph and turns to offer John Diggle her outstretched hand. 

 

“I’ll be quick about checking the perimeter,” he nods toward the door. 

 

“What’s amazing is that isn’t a smarmy line, and you actually mean that.” Felicity shakes her head and sighs. “I’m not mad at you because I know you’re just doing Glen a favor, but seriously my place is perfectly safe.” 

 

She doesn’t mean for it to sound harsh, but she is tired and hungry and apparently cranky. She hands John Diggle the keys and steps back. The pragmatist in her head offers that it is the fastest way to reach the primary objective of sleep. 

 

“I’m sure your boyfriend would approve.” Diggle nods toward Felicity’s phone. It takes her a beat to realize he means the texts from Barry, but he’s already inside so she doesn’t bother to correct him. Or explain that Barry couldn’t pull of the overprotective card since it was his girlfriend Iris who’d taught all of them how to throw a punch.

 

It only takes a few minutes to appease John Diggle, and Felicity is too tired to do more than wave a muted goodbye and promise to dead-bolt the door. She was certainly to out of it to notice that the black town car stayed outside her place until she’d turned off all the lights and or that it waited until John Diggle was appeased that she’d fallen soundly asleep and no one could hurt her. 

 

*** 

 

Felicity’s year in Starling has gained her exactly one friend: Glen. 

 

_Yeah_ , it’s exactly as pathetic as it sounds. If Felicity actually admitted it aloud she’d quick to clarify. Only one friend in Starling. Barry is only a train ride away, and every couple months Felicity travels to Central City to spend the weekend with him and borrow his social life. She’ll go out with Barry, Iris, and Barry’s lab partners, Caitlin and Cisco to karaoke and in the summers Iris drags them to to music festivals because she’s cooler than all of them. 

 

Every time Felicity returns home to her empty condo she tells herself that the occasional weekend is enough. It’s a modern world with social media and an airport in every city. Friendships no longer need be limited by distance. She tells herself she’s too busy to meet new people who might actually live in her city. She tells herself this is her choice. 

 

Then the next weekend arrives, and Felicity sits in her condo until she has reason to go back into the office. It’s depressing, but she chooses not to dwell on it too much. There’s plenty of television to keep her company. 

 

She could move to Central City to be closer to friends, but she promised herself that she would find who she was before she met Cooper. That woman had listened to her gut and gave away her heart without fear. Until Felicity is that woman again she isn’t going to leave Starling. A place like Central City is bright and happy. She loves it and her friends who live there, but she doesn’t belong there. There’s something about Starling that fits the woman she is now, dusty and tentative. 

 

“Caitlin said if you move up here she’d totally get a place with you.” Barry said last week. 

 

He made the same pitch every other month or so, and Felicity understands why. She appreciates it even. Once Felicity confided in Glen the truth of how she ended up in Starling, and since then she’s not repeated the mistake with anyone else. Glen was wonderful. He didn’t say much, but the next day when she came into work there was an arrangement of yellow roses sitting on her desk. Telling Glen had been a mistake because the words bunched up Felicity’s throat until she was hot and red, barely getting through the story without crying. She had gone home and cried not just because the story was painful, but because the fact it still affected her that much _hurt_. She hadn’t known pain could echo like that. 

 

Like Glen, Barry doesn’t ask about Cooper. He’s the only person in her life who’d known him. They’d all been at MIT together, and while Barry had always been Felicity’s friend and wary of Cooper at least he understood. When the police told her about Cooper, Felicity had called Barry. Her eyes were too swollen from crying to drive. When Felicity needed someone, Barry had picked her up. He still does. 

 

“Barry -,” 

 

“I know! I know! You’re finding yourself or whatever you call it. Until you’re done I’m not allowed to comment.” 

 

“I know that goes against every fiber of your being.” 

 

“I just don’t get it.” 

 

“Exactly. You don’t get it. You’ve got to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

 

That’s a lie - she has no idea what she’s doing. She knows it’s a problem that her only friend is Glen, and just like she knows she’s terrified to let go of the loneliness. It’s become a comfortable companion. To be alone feels safer than the chance of falling so spectacularly again. 

 

Felicity is smart enough to recognize the ring of insanity in which she’s found herself:she’s lonely because she’s trying to find her way out of sadness, but her loneliness makes her sad. Donna demanded feelings be out there in the open, but Felicity wasn’t her mother. She understood herself well, but to feel lonely and stuck at the same time is like running underwater. It’s exhausting and unsustainable. 

 

How is she ever going to find the strength to change? 

 

***

 

The next day, Saturday, Felicity hums because she’s spending the day in the office finishing the work Mr. Collins dropped on their department. She trades her heels for her favorite flats, the ones with the panda faces on the toes. They make her smile, and she flexes her feet in them as she steps off the bus. 

 

It’s good to have an excuse to leave her condo on a Saturday. The logical part of her brain knows she doesn’t need a reason. Normal people use the weekend to have fun. Felicity needs the excuse, however, and it feels good to blame Oliver Queen. The bright yellow awnings on Canaries catch her eye. She hesitates because she doesn’t want to be late, and then catches herself. It’s Saturday. 

 

The memo was sent around mid-week. Oliver Queen would begin his first day as Chief Operations Officer. Walter would transition to run the Queen’s charitable foundation, and Oliver would oversee the day-to-day operations for his family. That day his name was in the air.

 

“I heard he’s dating last year’s Ms. Universe” said a woman in the bathroom stall next to Felicity.

 

“I thought it was a princess from Europe.” said a second woman on Felicity’s other side. 

 

“Penelope up on the executive floor says all his secretary ever does is field calls from women trying to reach him.” 

 

Felicity had willed herself to pee faster. The two women talked around her and silently Felicity picture Oliver Queen darting away from the mental arrows she was shooting at him. How could a complete stranger turn her life upside down? 

 

Felicity’s officemate, Lisa, couldn’t care less about Oliver Queen’s playboy past; it was his returning that occupied her every waking thought. 

 

“But why now?” Lisa hissed. Felicity mumbled a general sound of _IdunnoIdon’tcare_ in hopes of discouraging her. 

Lisa took Felicity’s grunt as conversation, and wrung her hands. 

 

“When that woman fell five years ago stock prices plummeted. I lost part of my pension. You weren’t around then so you don’t know better. Happened right here in this building. Or at least on top of it. You knew that right?” 

 

“Yes,” Felicity said in a short clipped tone because a woman falling to her death from a skyscraper is the last thing she wants to discuss before lunch.

 

“I heard his mother ordered him out of the country or she’d disinherit him. I hope she did. Parents today aren’t tough on kids. That’s why global warming is so bad.” 

 

Felicity wanted to throw her hands up in the air, but she learned months that would only encourage Lisa. The other woman kept talking and Felicity half-listened as she skimmed through a length of code. 

 

“He was a menace. Spoiled, too. I said it at the time. If Moira Queen can’t run her own family why should she be able to run a business? I work here. I should have a say. I don’t think she’s that good of a mother. Oliver skipped his own mother’s wedding last year to close a deal in Russia or some place Scandinavian like that. But I’ll give credit where credit is due. He’s grown up because international acquisitions used to be a joke around here. We were a tech company, and look at us now. You’d think those Queens would share some of the wealth. Whatever he’s come back to do it’s gotta be big. Bigger than buying up the world and selling the parts.” Lisa gasped. “You don’t think he’s here to do the same to us. Take departments apart and sell us to the highest bidder?” 

 

Felicity looked up, “Why would he do that to his own company?” 

 

“Maybe the financial meltdown spooked him, and he doesn’t want QC to be too big to fail?” 

 

“I’m pretty sure Oliver Queen was peeing on a cop in 2008. Also, that was four years ago.” 

 

“ I’ve been here a lot longer than you, and I’m telling you Oliver Queen didn’t come home on a lark. Whatever his reasons… I’m scared. I can’t lose this job.” 

 

Felicity stilled. She made it a policy to never dwell on Lisa’s flights of imagination, but she remembered the white, sweating brow of Mr. Collins when he announced the department’s backlog of work must be cleared before Mr. Queen’s arrival. 

 

“Let’s make a good impression, people!” he’d said, tugging on his collar with a finger, “Make me look good.”

 

What had brought Oliver Queen home? Felicity remembers vaguely the gossip magazines reporting on the fact that he hadn’t attended Moira Queen’s wedding to Walter Steele. It’d coincided with Felicity’s move to Starling so she hadn’t given it more than a passing pause, but now that he’s returned Felicity does agree it’s odd. Why now and not then? What had changed? 

 

Felicity doesn’t care to speculate on Oliver Queen. Let him date and dismantle to his heart’s content. She’s just an IT girl. But on this Saturday she does pause in front of the skyscraper and mutter to the white QUEEN name hanging down the spine of the building, _“_ Don’t screw this up.” 

 

***  

 

Today, the sidewalk easel in front of Canaries reads: 

 

**Our coffee is an experience that chalk is unable to convey.**

 

The handwriting is clipped and without the artistic flourish from previous days. Today, whoever had been tasked with the sign clearly gave no fucks. Felicity snorts and pushes the door open with her shoulder. 

 

There’s poetry written about the deep, abiding scent of roasting coffee, but Canaries doesn’t smell like coffee. It does, but also baking bread and something else that Felicity would call light streaming through windows. In the moment though she stands there in the threshold and breathes deep. 

 

_Welcome._ That’s what it feels like to walk into Canaries. _Welcome._ The sensation of being invited burns in her cheeks. She presses a hand to the curve of her ribs and stands there for a moment. 

 

Canaries is honey wood floors, gleaming glass bakery displays, and a white marble counter along the back wall. 

Felicity notices children swing their legs on chairs too big for them. There are smiles and excited hand gestures as people cluster at bistro tables. Customers lean on elbows, engrossed in books or laptops, with their order steaming next to them. Bright sunlight filters in and whitewashes this tiny corner of the world. Even the music is jaunty.

 

Felicity doesn’t have elaborate opinions about coffee shops. Her mother fueled herself with a steady Diet Coke habit so they didn’t even have a coffee maker until Felicity went to high school. Once she did start drinking coffee she didn’t really have friends to meet at a coffee shop. Now her work often requires more bandwidth than the pauper wifi signal most shops offer. While she could fix that deterrent as well as any of the others she feels toward coffee shops, Felicity hasn’t bothered. She tells herself she isn’t a coffee shop person, but that’s not entirely true. When she first moved to Starling, Felicity sought out coffee shops as a way to acquaint herself with her new home. There’s something beautifully ordinary about a coffee shop as a place people meet. But she quickly made excuses to stay home or get her drink to go. Coffee shops made Felicity feel alone in the same way her cubicle in the bowels of her department made her feel small. 

 

“Welcome to Canaries!”

 

Felicity steps up to the counter and the woman behind it smiles. She is blonde with a dimpled chin. Her name tag reads Sara. 

 

“I’m really glad you guys are here.” Felicity winces. That came out wrong. “I mean - I didn’t know you before, but I’m really glad this place is here. Now. There’s this kiosk where I normally get my coffee, but this is better. Like so much better. Wow, I’m not making any sense. You just wanna take my order.” 

 

Sara tips her head and offers a gentle smile, “You’re cute.” 

 

Felicity looks for the menu, but there isn’t one. Behind Sara silver brewing machines sit like obedient soldiers in formation. Bakers shelves hold glass canisters with coffee beans and ingredients each diligently labeled. They reach the ceiling. Felicity notes the library ladder in the corner and the iron track spanning the back wall to reach them. 

 

“We make anything,” Sara says, “What’s your go-to order?” .

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

Sara winks, “We’ll change that.” 

 

Felicity’s opinions on coffee are driven more by emotion than fact. She likes it hot and iced. Served straight and loaded with additives until it’s more sugar than coffee. Steeped and drip. Espresso and latte. Her order depends on the moment. She has one for every situation. 

 

_ Overwhelmed by her idiotic boss?  _

 

Order: a quick cup of black coffee in a paper cup, sipped with the door shut, and 80’s music blaring. The good part of the 80’s, of course.  

 

_ An afternoon coding?  _

 

Order: iced coffee, as long as it’s cold brewed first, in a ridiculously tall glass. Hot coffee dumped over ice is bitter and just wrong. 

 

_ All-night Dr. Who marathons?  _

 

Order: skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot drank from her favorite mug, the one with arrows on it. 

_ Blind date?  _

 

Order: mocha soy latte with a splash of whole milk and extra shot of espresso because Felicity wants to know if he’ll lecture her on the correct way to order coffee. “Don’t get something so girly.” If he does then she knows to pitch him and keep the coffee.

. 

“Laurel can make anything.” Sara says, “She’s the barista. But if you want I can make a recommendation. I’m good at reading people.” 

 

Felicity wonders what that has to do with her coffee order, but before she can ask, a man shoulders his way up to the counter. 

 

“The wifi is out.” He announces.

 

The man is tall and broad and wearing an impeccable suit. Felicity shoots him a look for being so rude, but he ignores her. 

 

There’s a definite downturn to Sara’s mouth. “I already told you we’ve reset it twice this morning. It’s broken.” 

 

“Well, fix it.” 

 

Felicity sees the other woman’s jaw twitch. “Sometimes things just break.” 

 

“Then I want a refund.”

 

“We sell coffee and _scrumptious_ baked goods. Not wifi.” 

 

Felicity decides that Sara may look like a sorority girl - hair the color of sunshine, blue eyes, and upturned lashes - but there’s an edge to her. She makes the word _scrumptious_ sound like a death threat. 

 

The man steps up to the counter and leans in, “I don’t give a shit. I came here to work and if you can’t fix the wifi then I want a damn refund.” 

 

Sara stares the man down and Felicity can’t decide if he’s dumb or brave. Around her people are watching and Felicity exhales.  

 

She leans forward and waves, “I’m here!” She smiles brightly at Sara. If she wasn’t so terrible at winking she’d try that, but hopefully Sara will catch on. “The girl you called to fix the wifi.” 

 

It takes a beat, but Sara does catch on, “Yes! I did do that!” She gives the man a smug smile and beckons Felicity behind the counter. 

 

Felicity turns to follow but the man stands in her way. She arches an eyebrow, and he barely moves so she can get around him. As she follows Sara through the swinging doors to the back of the shop he calls out, “Make it fast. I’ve got work to get done.” 

 

“Ass,” Sara mutters.  

 

***

 

That’s how Felicity finds herself winding through the kitchen of Canaries. It’s small, but clean and orderly with steel counters, rows of baking sheets, and a giant mixing stand splattered with flour dust. 

 

“What do you think?” 

 

“It’s a kitchen.” Felicity says. “It seems like a nice kitchen. I don’t know a lot about kitchens. I mean I have a kitchen. Who doesn’t have a kitchen? Homeless people probably don’t, which I guess should make me more grateful for mine. I don’t really cook. I’m kind of terrible at it really.” She closes her eyes and tries again, “It’s a lovely kitchen.” 

 

Sara leans back against the nearest counter, “It’s mine,” she says proudly. “My sister Laurel does the coffee, and I bake.” 

 

“I don’t know a lot about kitchens, but I am an expert at eating dessert.” 

 

“And wifi?” 

 

“Yes.” Felicity digs out her QC badge and presents it to Sara, “I work in IT across the street.” 

 

Sara examines the title on the badge and whistles, “Fancy.” 

 

“I just remove viruses and reset passwords for executive’s computers because they’re kind of the worst.” 

 

“I can imagine,” Sara hands the badge back to Felicity and heads toward a door at the back of the kitchen. It leads to a back hall and then side office, which is crowded with boxes. 

 

“Sorry about the mess,” Sara sidesteps a half open box and Felicity is careful to do the same. Underneath it all is a desk and on top of it a router sitting in a nest of wires. Felicity actually whimpers when she sees it. 

 

“Who did this?” 

 

Sara scratches an ear, “Ah, I did. Laurel just got in last night, and Nyssa doesn’t know how to send an email let alone set up a network.” 

 

Felicity drops her purse on the desk and pulls out her tablet. It doesn’t take long to access the system and start a quick diagnostic. She has to climb under the desk to find the wall connection. Sara hovers a few feet away watching and silent.

 

“Thank you,” she says eventually. “I really appreciate this. People have been complaining about the wifi all morning and we’re completely useless at this stuff. 

 

“It’s not a problem. I love this stuff.” 

 

“Maybe we can trade then. Dessert and coffee for tech savvy.” 

 

Felicity pushes up her glasses, “It’s just a wifi network, but you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

 

Sara settles cross legged on the floor. She pulls the nearest box and tugs the packing tape off. 

 

Felicity bites her lip. She likes Sara. Maybe she could be Felicity’s second friend after Glen? Once upon a time Felicity had a normal human capacity for small talk; she wasn’t Donna with her ability to chat anyone up, but she was friendly. Had been at least. Now broaching conversation with a near stranger felt like trying to jump hurdles. 

 

“You said your sister just got into town?” 

 

“We all did actually. Laurel was just the last to arrive.” 

 

“So none of you are from Starling?” 

 

“I lived here a really long time ago, but it’s practically a different city now. Don’t you think?” 

 

“I just moved here a year ago myself,” Felicity says. 

 

“Where from?” 

 

“Boston.” 

 

“Why don’t you have the accent?” 

 

Felicity feels the heat in her cheeks, and wishes she wasn’t so self-conscious. It’s just small-talk. 

 

“Oh, um I just went to school there.” 

 

“Which school?” 

 

“MIT.” 

 

“So, you’re, like, a genius.” 

 

Felicity debates lying, but remembers how good it’d felt yesterday to say the truth about herself to Walter Steele. 

 

“I am smart,” she says, “and good with computers. Really good.” 

 

“So why is a genius from MIT resetting passwords for muckety mucks?” 

 

_Oh_ , that’s why Felicity usually demurs. The prick of feelings that stings in her chest, right above her heart. She remembers and ducks her head as the heat rushes up her neck. 

 

“That’s a long story,” she pushes her voice higher, hoping to cover over her discomfort. 

 

But Sara is perceptive and she nudges the box she is unpacking so it bumps Felicity’s ankle. 

 

“I’ve got a long story too,” she says. “Most people do.” 

 

“Who are you?” 

 

The voice belongs to a tall slender woman standing in the office doorway. She has blonde highlights and high cheek bones. When Felicity stands up the woman’s eyes widen. 

 

“Oh, I’m nobody,” Felicity stammers, “I mean I’m somebody. I’m just nobody you need to worry about. I’m trying to fix your wifi. I promise I know what I’m doing. I work in IT for Queen Consolidated and have been wanting to try this place all week, but there’s a thing with the guy who runs the place. He’s kind of an ass. I mean I don’t know for sure. I’ve never met him. But I’ve heard stories. Most of them…” she swallows and rocks on her heels, “not relevant to this conversation I’m realizing.” 

 

Sara stands, “Felicity, this is my sister Laurel. Laurel, Felicity.” 

 

Felicity waves, but Laurel only stares back. There’s a beat and Felicity feels like she’s being held up to the light for survey. She’s not really sure what’s going on, but then Laurel shifts. She crosses her arms and looks at her sister. 

 

“Who is watching the front if you’re back here?” 

 

The _o_ Sara’s mouth forms tells Felicity this thought hadn’t occurred to the other woman. “Nyssa?” Sara offers with a cringe. 

 

Laurel exhales, “Did you pawn the chalkboard sign off on Nyssa too?” 

 

“Maybe?” 

 

“Sara!” Laurel deflates. “That was your idea. You said you’d take care of it.” 

 

“I will. I am. But I woke up this morning with this great idea for pomegranate, chocolate scones and I _needed_ to make them.” Sara wrinkles her nose, “…and we sold out so it wasn’t a totally bad idea?” 

 

Laurel tips her head and Felicity knows immediately which sister is the older one. A cable near her foot catches her eye and she bends down. “Um, I think I found the source of your wifi problem. Something has made a snack of your wiring.” She holds out a chewed upon cable. 

 

Both women swear at the same time. “Dammit Ra’s.” 

 

“Ra’s?” 

 

“He’s Nyssa’s cat,” Sara explains, “Nyssa is my girlfriend. Ra’s is her unfortunate baggage.” 

 

Laurel presses a finger to her temple. “What is a cat doing in our business office?” 

 

“You try keeping him locked upstairs,” Sara swings her arms, “he thinks the whole place is his to piss over like it’s his fucking kingdom or something.” She points toward the ceiling and provides important context for Felicity’s sake, “We’re living in the apartment above the place.” 

 

“Oh,” Felicity nods, but she feels like an interloper.  

 

A third woman appears in the office doorway and between the people and the boxes it’s gotten seriously crowded in the tiny room. Felicity looks to the ceiling. This is why she keeps to herself. She always ends up in the middle of other people’s messes.  

 

Nyssa is standing in front of her, looking her up and down. 

 

“I’m Nyssa al Ghul. Financier of this establishment.” 

 

Felicity blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Felicity Smoak. MIT. Class of ’09.” 

 

Nyssa holds herself like a soldier. Purple highlights trailing through her dark hair and she’s dressed in black all the way down to her leather motorcycle boots.  

 

Nyssa turns on Sara. “That man is still out there.” she says. “I will castrate him if you don’t intervene.” 

 

Laurel huffs and Nyssa looks between the two sisters, “You promised me I wouldn’t have talk to any of them.” 

 

Felicity can’t help herself, “Them?”

 

“Customers,” Sara explains. “Nyssa’s not a people person.” 

 

“The deal was Laurel in the front, you in the kitchen, and me in the office.” 

 

Laurel runs a hand through her hair, “This isn’t going to work.” 

 

“I agree.”  

 

Sara holds up hand, “It will. We just didn’t anticipate how effective Laurel’s coffee would be.” 

 

Laurel shifts her gaze to Felicity. She forces a thin smile, “I really appreciate your willingness to help, Felicity. We owe you free coffee for at least a week and a dozen of Sara’s muffins, but I don’t want to take up any more of your Saturday.” 

 

It was an obvious feint, and for some reason Felicity feels the hot press in her eyes. She doesn’t tear up, but she has to bite down on her lower lip to keep from doing so. She’s not sure why. She doesn’t know these people. She was only trying to be helpful, she reminds herself. Just reset the wifi and move on. 

 

She holds up the cable Ra’s chewed through, “You just need to buy a new one of these and restart the router.” 

 

She shoulders her bag, offers a smile, and slips past the other women. Back in the front of the store the line has snaked out the door and the irate man is still in the front. 

 

“About damn time.” He says. 

 

“They need a new cable so you’re out of luck,” Felicity says as she passes him. She notices the cell phone in his hand. It’s the latest model from Tech Village and she knows it comes standard with a wifi hotspot and her annoyance grows. She tells herself to keep walking. It’s so not worth it, but then - 

 

“Figures you couldn’t figure it out.” 

 

Felicity stops and grabs the man’s phone. 

 

“See this icon right here on your shiny oversized screen?” She taps it, “there now you’ve got internet.” The signal bars flash and she taps the preferences icon, “but since you’re a cheap entitled asshole I’ll erase the feature so you don’t ever have to worry about paying for your own internet again. ” 

 

The hot spot icon disappears and Felicity slaps the phone into his chest. 

 

“Bitch.” 

 

She tips her head and waves her own phone in the air, “Bitch with wifi.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes love needs a little push and a shot of expresso...
> 
> A coffeeshop, Canaries, opens seemingly overnight across from Queen Consolidated, and Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak each find themselves drawn to the corner shop and to one another. They couldn't be more different: him, a rich CEO with a carefully planned out future, and her, a brilliant woman hiding in the IT department from a painful past, but they discover a friendship that challenges every assumption they have about themselves.
> 
> Canaries is no ordinary coffeeshop. Your favorite table is always free. The coffee is exactly what you didn't know you needed, and for Oliver and Felicity they inexplicably always show up at the exact same time. Then there's the proprietors - the Lance sisters, Laurel and Sara, and Sara's girlfriend Nyssa - each with her own secrets. Whatever Canaries is...well, it's a mystery and Felicity Smoak hates mysteries. They need to be solved.
> 
> A coffee shop AU...with a twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! This chapter is a few days late. My apologies. Life. 
> 
> THANK YOU for the lovely response this fic has gotten so far. I'm haven't written much in this fandom, and it's so nice to read (and reread) your comments. I promise to catch up on responding to all of them in the next few days. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> See you for the next update - Thursday! 
> 
> As always...thank you to stars-inthe-sky for patiently introducing me to the nuances of coffeeshop AU's when I decided I wanted to write one. Also to lulabo & fulltimeprocrastinator for feedback and friendship. Giant, echoing thanks to go to nvwhovian for beta-ing and alienat81 for cheerleading. To the OFBB organizers - THANK YOU for all the behind the scenes work.
> 
> KA

                          

 

“Hello, Felicity.” 

 

Felicity startles and almost knocks over her computer and the cup of untouched coffee sitting beside her. Laurel stands there with a to-go cup and wears a tight smile that Felicity can’t read. 

 

Here’s the thing—Laurel Lance is beautiful. It takes half-a-second to realize that, and while Sara is pretty and Nyssa striking there is something about Laurel that intimidates Felicity. The other woman is tall and willowy, but growing up in casinos in Vegas trained Felicity to hold her own around stunning women. It’s not Laurel’s beauty, but her aloofness that sets Felicity on edge. 

 

In the month since that first Saturday, Canaries has slotted into Felicity’s world. She faithfully checks the sandwich board every day because it makes her smile, and she mentally catalogues the badass ever-changing fashion of Nyssa Al Ghul: purple hair streaks become crimson, biker boots are exchanged for impossibly tall stilettos, silk instead of leather, and then the next day it’s something entirely new, fierce and fantastic. Felicity can tell that Nyssa approves of her, and that feels like an accomplishment. It’s Sara that Felicity befriends first. She remains just as warm and curious as the day Felicity met her. Sara is perpetually dusted with flour and scribbling recipe ideas on napkins. There’s always a sample of her latest baking experiment waiting for Felicity when she shows up after work. Sara is determined to figure out Felicity’s go-to drink order, and presents her with cups of coffee while carefully tracking the successes and failures. Felicity can easily see the deep history between the two women:how Nyssa indulges Sara and no one else and how Sara knows to tip her head just so to make Nyssa laugh. 

 

But Laurel…there’s something in how Laurel holds herself that makes Felicity think of the girls locker room in middle school—how there’s judgement in a single glance that cuts at the vulnerable bits, makes you feel like you’re just wrong all over. 

 

Still, Canaries charms Felicity and the coffee shop becomes the place she goes after work instead of returning to her empty condo. On Saturdays, she stakes out a table, and while she may go hours without talking to anyone Felicity loves those days best. She feels less alone. Felicity is still lonely, but the weight of it has lessened or she’s growing stronger. Which it is, she doesn’t know. 

 

The Monday after Felicity first visited Canaries Oliver Queen made his grand entrance at Queen Consolidated, but she didn’t bother to gather in the lobby with the rest of the company. That morning women bunched around sinks in the restrooms and men’s shoes gleamed, newly polished. It was all very vague to Felicity what exactly people thought would happen now that Oliver Queen had returned. Lisa surely had plenty of theories, but Felicity refused to consider them viable. Her favorite was Lisa’s claim that he must be a member of the mob and he’s returned to establish his empire. Felicity hadn’t been able to help herself, and asked which mob? Lisa’s quick response:the Russians, of course. 

 

On the day of Oliver Queen’s arrival Felicity stayed in her shared office for a very specific reason. Later that day she was going to have lunch with Walter Steele, and it completely freaked her out. She wanted to impress Walter Steele, and it’s that wanting that both enthralled and terrified Felicity. It’d been so long since she wanted anything other than to feel safe, steady, that the night before she laid in bed, blinked at her ceiling, and told her racing mind that _this_ isn’t Cooper. Memories of their long evenings making plans over shared boxes of take out flooded her mind and Felicity tried to logic herself out of them. _This_ wasn’t anything like that. _It’s just lunch_ ….

 

That lunch turned into a second, then a third, and that’s what brought Felicity to Canaries early on _this_ Monday morning. It’d been stupid early when she peaked in the window. Technically they were closed, but Nyssa beckoned her inside. The electronic song of the canary cry echoed in the empty coffee shop when she pushed open the door. Felicity was there to go over her proposals for Walter one last time.

 

“You know I’ll be making the transition to the family foundation soon,” Walter said at the end of their last meeting. He’d smoothed his tie and tucked his chin, “Oliver will be taking over day-to-day operations within in the month, and I want to leave him with a number of potential next internal projects. I think you’re an immense talent, Felicity, and I’m sorry I won’t be here to see it grow. Still, would you be willing to help? ” 

 

Like Canaries, Walter has been kind to Felicity, and kindness was precious, more precious than it’d ever been before. Breaking does that to you. There’s a treacherous part of Felicity that thinks with Walter she’d stand a chance of working her way out of the IT department, but when she thinks about it she panics. If she wanted a more high profile job she could go get one. She’s talented. This isn’t about ambition. The IT department gave her equilibrium while also being mind-numbingly boring. Still, it’d been a year since she moved to Starling. Maybe she was ready to return to her old ways again? To no longer equivocate on her skills? But the risk makes Felicity skittish. Maybe Walter leaving just as this new opportunity presents itself is a sign - a sign that she’s not ready? That’s what fueled Felicity’s panic attack the day Oliver Queen started at Queen Consolidated, and it’s the chorus that’s been ringing in her head since. 

 

So Felicity compromised with herself. She promised to deliver the proposals, but she would to keep her name off of them. Walter would move on, Oliver Queen would have his precious ideas, and Felicity could go back to her safe, easy life as an IT girl. _This is a practice round_ , she tells herself. Like a warm up - stretch her brain and ambitions to keep them from atrophying. 

 

That’s why she’d gotten up stupid early this morning to work, and done so gladly because she _loves_ the work. It’s the exposure that she doesn’t feel strong enough to withstand. The possibility of failure, of hurting someone, or being hurt herself makes her determined for this to be a one time thing. _You’re going to help Walter and then you’re done._

 

When Felicity arrived at Canaries this morning it’d been Nyssa cleaning the glass on the bakery “Sara’s in the back. We’re all running late today. Ra’s howled all night. Damn beast.” 

 

“I thought Ra’s was a cat? Don’t cat’s meow?” 

 

Nyssa’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a demon is what he is.”

 

Felicity opted to leave it at that and made her way to her table tucked in the far corner of the shop. Nyssa brought her a cup of coffee, black, and a muffin from the day before since the display case was still empty. It was banana nut, but Felicity didn’t expect Nyssa al Ghul to remember that she was allergic to nuts. She nudged it away so she wouldn’t absently eat it as she delved into the code. She exhaled and cracked her knuckles. _This_ is what she loved best in life:her, the computer, and time. 

 

That was hours ago and now Laurel stands over Felicity, who blinks as it dawns on her that the coffee shop is full. The line is almost to the door, and Sara and Nyssa fly back and forth behind the counter. Felicity jerks to pick up her bag off the floor. She shoves her computer and anything else within reach inside. 

 

“What time is it?” She practically begs Laurel. The woman frowns. 

 

“10:00 a.m.” 

 

“Frak.” 

 

“At least the commute won’t be long,” Laurel offers. 

 

Felicity stops. Had Laurel Lance made a joke? To Felicity? When did they become the kind of friends who joke? But then as soon as it appeared the smile on the other woman’s face is gone and she pushes the to-go cup of coffee into Felicity’s hand. 

 

“Promise me you’ll drink this,” Laurel says.

 

Felicity mutters a thank you, but Laurel grabs her wrist. 

 

“You have to drink it. Promise.” she says. “Don’t leave it on your desk forgotten.” 

 

They both look at the cup of black coffee Nyssa poured for Felicity hours ago, now cold and sad. 

 

“I promise.” Felicity says. She doesn’t stop to wonder why Laurel cares if she drinks the coffee or not, or why she made it for Felicity in the first place. That’s a thought she’ll have later, but in the moment Felicity flies out of Canaries, coffee in hand, and for the first time in a year skips to the front of the the security line at Glen’s desk. Turns out it’s good to have friends. 

 

“Please?” she whispers. The older man laughs and scans her badge despite the whine of the people standing in line. 

 

“Hey!” he calls out, “don’t forget your coffee!” 

 

And it’s only because Felicity can’t figure Laurel Lance out that she bothers to turn around to retrieve it. 

 

Felicity shoulders her way onto the too-full elevator and mutters, “Better be life changing coffee.” 

 

***

 

“Felicity Smoak?” 

 

The way he says her name makes Felicity tense up. 

 

Mr. Collins. 

 

Her boss hangs over her cubicle and across from her Lisa’s fingers stop typing. Felicity inhales and swivels in her chair with the best smile she can muster plastered on her face. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“I saw you,” he points a finger, “I saw you sneak up the the executive floor last week. You thought you were being sneaky, but I saw you.” 

 

Of course he didn’t see her sneak in an hour late today. Mr. Collins is never on time. Still, she’d hoped she had been discrete last week when she met with Walter for lunch. But now Mr. Collins is pointing his pudgy finger at her, and he’s sweating. Felicity knows she should be nicer about her boss, but he’s just so…not good at his job. It makes everything else that would be simply annoying become intolerable. 

 

“I won’t have you take credit for work that this department does,” Mr. Collins said, “I know you think that you’re smarter than me.” 

 

“That’s cause she is.” This comes from Lisa, whose back is to them both and Felicity is as surprised as her boss. Lisa turns in her chair. “She is smarter than you, and if you had an ounce of common sense you wouldn’t be intimidated by that. You’d see she makes you look better at your job.” 

 

Felicity gapes. Mr. Collins turns purple. “I won’t be talked to like this.” 

 

Lisa casually picks up her coffee and sips it. “Like what?” she shrugs. “I don’t think Felicity is going to corroborate any story you tell, and it’s not like you’ve got any other reason to write us up. She’s too good at her job, and I know the employee handbook word for word. I read that shit. I know you corporate goons are always trying to screw over us plebians.” 

 

Felicity isn’t sure what’s happening, but rather than issue a dressing down full of hot air Mr. Collins slinks back to his office. 

 

Lisa arches an eyebrow, “You’re welcome.” 

 

“Thank you?” Felicity says. 

 

Lisa holds up a to-go coffee cup as if toasting them both. Felicity reaches for her own untouched cup, which has cooled, and notices the Canaries logo embossed on the side of Lisa’s cup as well. 

 

***

 

The coffee is the best damn coffee Felicity has ever had. 

 

It isn’t coffee. It’s an experience. 

 

Even cooled considerably it’s amazing. There’s something in it that Felicity can’t identify. It’s spicy and sweet at the same time, citrus and aromatic. Thankfully Lisa gets called into a meeting because as she sips the coffee Felicity actually groans. She makes a tiny noise in the back of her throat and tips her head forward, elbows resting on her desk. 

 

“This should be illegal,” she mutters. Her bag sits on the floor next to her foot, and Felicity notices a white paper bag tucked in next to her laptop. 

 

It’s stamped with the same three-bird logo on the side of her and Lisa’s cups. Canaries. Laurel must have dropped it in there while she was coding this morning. Inside are pastries and a note. 

 

**a tap of cardamom for bravery,**

**and wild raspberries for tart**

 

 

That’s what must be in the coffee - cardamom. The raspberries are in the scones and there are two of them wrapped in paper. Felicity can feel through the bag that the warmth of the oven lingers. She’s not sure how that’s physically possible, but Felicity is a mess in the kitchen. She’s not sure how any of it works. 

 

What she does know is that she could cry from the gesture. She steals a corner of one scone and sips the coffee. It elicits another groan from her. Seriously, the Lance sisters could build an empire on their combined skill sets. Felicity tips her head back and stretches her neck. The stress of the last few weeks leaks out as she lets herself actually breathe. 

 

It occurs to her that she’s actually happy. Her nights and weekends are finding purpose in work she loves - even if it is temporary. Her department is ahead of it’s own schedule. Her weird officemate just stood up for her. Today she will deliver her proposals to Walter, and she has a coffeeshop - a real coffeeshop with people who know her and who, maybe, just maybe, might be her friends. 

 

Felicity spins in her chair simply because she can. 

 

*** 

 

Half way through her coffee Felicity is full of energy and verve. She gathers up the stack of carefully bound proposal booklets that have taken up her nights and weekends and stacks them in the crook of her arm. She had planned to worry over them for the rest of the day and sneak up to Walter’s office after hours to slip them onto his desk directly. Instead, she decides, she’ll march right past Mr. Collins, ride the elevator up to the executive floor, and proudly present them to Walter’s secretary. 

 

Whatever second-guessing Felicity feels she forbids from her brain, and the miracle is that it works. For a glorious few minutes Felicity is that little girl who won the science fair at 8 against high school students, the student who scored perfect on her SAT’s, and the woman who bragged to Cooper that night in the bar about her hacking prowess. 

 

She remembers herself. 

 

It lasts exactly four-and-a-half minutes.

 

Felicity loads up her proposals and plucks the half-drank coffee off her desk. She did promise Laurel Lance she’d finish it. She saunters past Mr. Collins’ open door. He is playing Farm Animals on his computer, and doesn’t notice her. Felicity doesn’t care though. No one is noticing her moment, but that’s okay. It’s her moment. It’s enough that she knows. 

 

She presses the button for the executive floor and sips the coffee as she waits. Toffee colored courage is what it is, and Felicity hums the theme to Star Trek under her breath. The ride in the elevator is slow and it stops at seven floors before reaching her destination. In a movie, Felicity thinks, this would all be much more exciting. But real life doesn’t get edited and put to a sound track. Felicity will just need to add that herself, and she’s happy to do so because right now anything feels possible. 

 

Felicity steps off the elevator onto the executive floor. She’s been here before, but every time she has to remember that she’s in the same building. Her floor suffers from cubicle farms under florescent lighting and blue-grey carpet. The executive floor is marble, glass, and spanning skylines of the city. Women click by her in beautiful heels, and if this were any other day Felicity would rock in her flats and pluck self-consciously at her button down shirt, which does nothing for her coloring. She’d feel lost. But not today. Today, Felicity walks off the elevator as if she belongs here, and it sinks in that she does. She has business up on the executive floor. This isn’t her playing pretend because she drank a really great cup of coffee. 

 

This is real. This is her life. 

 

_And it’s changing_ …Felicity realizes. She’s changing. The law of conservation of energy comes to mind:it cannot be created or destroyed, but transforms from one form to another. 

She’s neither the Felicity who answered that trivia question about canaries in that bar all those nights ago, nor is she the woman who moved to Starling to fold herself into the shadows of this city. Rather, she’s transforming. She likes the elegance of the metaphor; it reframes the past year not as hiding in Starling, which Felicity fears she is doing, but rather undergoing an elemental process. 

 

Felicity has imagined a thousand different ways she might return to herself, and put Starling and Cooper safely in her past, but none of them looked like _this:_ coffee, a returned billionaire, and befriending a baker and bad-ass whatever-it-is-Nysa-does. Still, the transformation isn’t complete. Her name isn’t on those reports. She’s becoming someone else, something else, and it occurs to Felicity—just as she rounds the corner—that this fact doesn’t scare her like it once did. 

 

Rather, it gives her life. 

 

It’s in that exact moment as Felicity mentally hums her own made-up theme music and contemplates her existential reverie that Oliver Queen rounds the same corner going in the opposite direction. In that moment the two collide and two objects launch airborne:Felicity’s coffee and a laptop. Both fly in graceful arcs high into the air as Felicity lets out an unattractive _umphf_ as she bounces off what has to be a brick wall. Instinct kicks in when she spots the laptop summersaulting above her head. The reports are dropped and she reaches out for the piece of tech, falling sideways onto the hard marble floor, and skidding into the wall with a _thud._

 

Felicity lands on her hip, and flinches from the ringing sting of her elbow hitting the marble floor. She rolls onto her back and exhales. The laptop is clutched safely against her ribs, but her fingers feel along the exterior and she realizes it has holes, perfectly round holes, in it. She panics, but logic catches up. Falling does not cause round holes in laptops. 

 

As she sits up, Felicity winces and she realizes the world is fuzzy. Her glasses have been knocked off, but thankfully they are right there on the floor next to her. She slips them on and the world shifts into focus. The first thing she sees is blue—the color of water when the sunshines, and then—

 

“Felicity Smoak? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.” 

 

 

*** 

 

There’s a lot to Oliver Queen that people don’t see, and little to people that he doesn’t. This fact changes when he meets Felicity Smoak, but it’s a long time before he recognizes the change. 

 

Instead, in that hallway Oliver sees a blond woman on the floor while papers scatter around their feet like whirling snow. Coffee drips down his hair and neck, sticking and staining his white dress shirt. The empty cup rolls near his shoe and Oliver bends to pick it up. He also picks up her employee ID badge and huffs when he sees the name.

 

_Felicity Smoak_. 

 

The name of the exact woman Walter recommended for Oliver’s off-the-books IT needs. In his time away he’s seen a lot of things that have taught him never underestimate unknown forces moving around them, but he thinks this is a little on-the-nose even for the universe. 

 

“Felicity Smoak? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.” 

 

The pretty blonde pushes her glasses up her nose and Oliver sees her eyes widen when his face comes into focus. 

 

“Of course. I know who you are. You’re Mr. Queen.” 

 

“No, Mr. Queen was my father.” 

 

“Right.And he died. I mean, he’s dead. But you aren’t, which means you can listen to me down here on the floor babble, which will end in 3-2-1.” 

 

She ducks her head, and Oliver lowers himself so he’s sitting in the mess of papers with her. They’re almost eye level now and Oliver points to the laptop Felicity clutches, “Believe it or not, I was on my way down to the IT department because I’m having some trouble with my computer and they told me you were the person to come and see.” 

 

Felicity sets the laptop in her lap, and Oliver takes a moment to really look at her. She’s young, and there’s a high color in her cheeks that matches the pink on her nails. Then she looks him in the eye and Oliver sees it, the razor sharp intelligence. It’s in her lips pressed together and chin tipped as if patiently waiting for him to catch up. 

 

He licks his lips, “I was at my coffee shop surfing the web and I spilled a latte on it.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Cause these look like bullet holes.” 

 

“My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood.” 

 

Then she tilts her head, and Oliver smiles. He waits for her to react, but she holds her gaze and he’s the one ducking his head affected. He looks at her and a dangerous curiosity tightens his throat. _Who is this woman?_

 

But before Oliver can say anything two women round the corner to find him and Felicity Smoak sitting on the floor, a lap top and coffee and papers between them. Felicity scrambles for the folders she’d dropped when they ran into one another. Oliver tries to help, but she seems to forget he’s there. The two women hover. Felicity mutters something that sounds like an apology, and then she’s gone. 

 

Oliver stands there drenched in coffee and holding the abandoned folders Felicity left behind. He stares at the corner she disappeared around, and then he notices one of the women watching him with a perfectly arched eyebrow. 

 

Isabel Rochev. 

 

_Fuck the universe,_ Oliver thinks. 

 

“Well that didn’t take long,” Isabel says. “Good to know you’re back to your old ways, Mr. Queen.” 

 

Oliver inhales and stalks down the hall without giving Isabel the satisfaction of a response. It’s not until he gets down to the IT department and stands in the doorway of Felicity’s empty office that he realizes that in her haste to escape Felicity Smoak stole his already-stolen laptop. 

 

***

 

Mercifully, the elevator ride from the executive floor to the lobby of Queen Consolidated is quick, and Felicity is left alone with her flailing thoughts for a few minutes. 

 

Queen Consolidated had dozens of executives so why did Isabel Roche of all people have to find Felicity on the floor with Oliver Queen? Felicity recalls her second day at the company last year, and the run-in she had with Isabel Rochev. She thumps her head against the wall of the elevator as if the knock of the memory loose. 

 

_Why?_

 

_And Oliver Queen?_

 

_What the hell was he doing with a laptop riddled with bullets?_

 

The audacity he had to give her a line like, “My coffeeshop is in a bad neighborhood.” 

 

What Felicity will never admit even under threat of torture is that the first response that bubbled up from her brain had been _You should try mine. It’s called Canaries._

 

She presses her fingertips to her forehead and groans, “Why does my brain think of the worst way to say things?” 

 

In the moment what is her mind’s response? To remember how blue his eyes had been and that the brick wall she thought she’d bounced off of was in fact Oliver Queen’s chest. 

 

She hadn’t gotten a full look at him, but when he sat down on the floor with her felicity noticed his white dress shirt, stained with coffee, and the hollow of his throat. Was it normal to be attracted to someone’s neck? Just their neck. She hopes so because she definitely is. 

 

Panic ripples through her as she replays the scene over and over in her mind. She’d spilled coffee on her boss, ruined proposals that had taken her hours, and then openly questioned him. To top it all off Mr. Collins now has reason to resent her and Isabel Rochev…well that woman already resented her, but it doesn’t feel good to give her more fodder.How had this day unraveled so quickly? 

 

But also in her memory are Oliver Queen’s terrible, lame ass excuses and Felicity’s humiliation is tinged with anger. She’s mad at herself and at Oliver Queen and the whole mess. She thinks of Lisa and her strange behavior this morning. It feels as if she’s stepped into an alternate reality of her own life. 

 

Hot tears press the corners of Felicity’s eyes, but she blinks them away. This is why she is so careful. It’s not that she can’t handle life when things go right, but that she falls apart so easily when something starts to go wrong. Felicity wonders if maybe she needs to redefine what strong looks like for her because it doesn’t feel like this is ever going to fully change. The law of conservation of energy doesn’t offer insight into transformation other than to note its existence. It occurs to her then that she might need to make room in her definition of strong for fear because it is in her blood now, folded into her DNA, lurking just behind the loneliness. She might just have to learn to live with both. 

 

Felicity promises herself she can cry later when she’s at home and alone. There will be mint chocolate chip ice cream. The bell dings and the elevator doors open up into the lobby. Felicity rushes past Glen, who raises a hand to wave to her, and she knows she’ll need to explain later. In the moment though, Felicity only needs one thing. 

 

A mystery solved. 

 

The lunch hour at Canaries is still bustling, but Felicity elbows her way to the front of the line despite people calling out in protest. 

 

Laurel Lance is at the register taking an order. She stills when she sees Felicity. The laptop Felicity doesn’t even remember carrying smacks on the marble countertop. Laurel inhales and Felicity leans over the counter. 

 

“What the _hell_ did you do to my coffee?” 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes love needs a little push and a shot of expresso...
> 
> A coffeeshop, Canaries, opens seemingly overnight across from Queen Consolidated, and Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak each find themselves drawn to the corner shop and to one another. They couldn't be more different: him, a rich CEO with a carefully planned out future, and her, a brilliant woman hiding in the IT department from a painful past, but they discover a friendship that challenges every assumption they have about themselves.
> 
> Canaries is no ordinary coffeeshop. Your favorite table is always free. The coffee is exactly what you didn't know you needed, and for Oliver and Felicity they inexplicably always show up at the exact same time. Then there's the proprietors - the Lance sisters, Laurel and Sara, and Sara's girlfriend Nyssa - each with her own secrets. Whatever Canaries is...well, it's a mystery and Felicity Smoak hates mysteries. They need to be solved.
> 
> A coffee shop AU...with a twist.

 

                         

 

 

“What the _hell_ did you do to my coffee?” 

 

Laurel crosses her arms tight across her chest. “Nothing.”

 

Felicity stares at her, but Laurel, like her sister, is not easily bowed.

 

“It’s the special of the day,” the woman says with a dismissive wave. “Yours wasn’t any different from everyone else.” 

 

Laurel nods toward a chalk board placard propped next to the cash register. Felicity’s recognizes Sara’s swirled handwriting. 

 

Felicity swallows, but holds firm. _Something_ had been different.“I don’t believe you.” 

 

Laurel sighs. “I’ve got customers,” She nods at the line of people snaking toward the door. 

 

“No.” 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“You insisted I drink that coffee, and then I go and…I do things that aren’t…” Her voice is pitched and shaking. Felicity hoists Oliver Queen’s bullet-riddled laptop up as proof. 

 

Laurel arches an eyebrow, and Felicity knows she’s not making sense.

 

“There had to be something different…” Felicity stammers. She lowers the computer. Her conviction spills out like flour from a bag. “I felt…” 

 

_Like me._ She catches the words before she confesses to Laurel Lance and every customer in Canaries. 

 

Laurel leans a palm on the counter. Her voice is low, “Felicity, if you think me putting something in your coffee is the only reason you feel _whatever_ then maybe that’s the problem. Not my coffee.”

 

Felicity steps back with the laptop clutched tight to her ribs. The man behind her clears his throat, and Felicity looks around. Half the coffee shop is watching her. Sara stands in the kitchen doorway. Her brow wrinkles when Felicity looks at her, and Felicity drops her gaze. Nyssa stands there too. Her mouth is in a fine line. 

 

_What was wrong with her?_

 

Suddenly, tomorrow’s date occur to her. In that moment Felicity feels everything both speed up and slow down at the same time. Laurel frowns in her direction; her eyes are full of pity and her head is tilted as if she’s trying to piece Felicity together. Felicity lets that sharp laugh out stuck in her throat. 

 

Tomorrow is Cooper’s birthday. 

 

Felicity laughs because she almost forgot. She almost let the date become just another day. Things happen to you every day of your life, but only a few dates act as sign posts for your life for we can only carry so much. Felicity laughs because she doesn’t know if she should be happy or sad she almost forgot about the date; she doesn’t know how to feel. She wants to cry and disappear at the same time. She wants to make more of a scene, and she wants to ask for help. But Felicity doesn’t do any of that. She retreats. 

 

A traitorous voice in her head reminds her that’s what she does now. It’s been a year since she moved to Starling. Thatretreat had been so dramatic that it has left friends and family looking at her with the same eyes Laurel is just now. It’s the look of tentative concern and bewilderment. To see that in people’s face, to see their paralyzed pity, and know that’s your reflection _hurts_. It hurts and Felicity cannot withstand the pain. She doesn’t feel strong enough. 

 

*** 

 

Oliver is pretty sure Glen-the-security-guard hates him, or at the very least thinks he’s a spoiled rich kid coming to play at the office. When he asks Glen to search for Felicity Smoak on his monitors Glen claims to have left his glasses at home. 

 

“Can hardly see without them,” he says as he turns a page of his newspaper. 

 

Oliver’s jaw shifts, but Glen stays fixated on his paper. 

 

“By any chance did you notice her leave?” 

 

“A lot of people come and go.” 

 

The lobby is empty. 

 

This is how Oliver confirms Glen hates him because the guy is a legend. This isn’t someone bad at his job. He is on Moira Queen’s freaking Christmas card list; he mans a security desk despite there being a security department two floors up with eyes all over Queen Consolidated. He is a fixture at Queen Consolidated in a way Oliver hasn’t earned despite his name being on the building. Oliver drums his fingers on the desk as he weighs his options. 

 

“Mr. Queen?” 

 

And then as quickly as she disappeared the illustrious Felicity Smoak reappears. She stands a few feet away and chews on her lower lip. Oliver wonders how her lipstick stays so bright and pink if she does that habitually, and he shakes his head as if to rattle the tangent away. In one hand Felicity holds out the laptop he’s after, and in the other a white bakery bag stamped with three birds on the side. 

 

“I didn’t look at it,” she says, “the laptop. I just wanted to say that so you didn’t think. I showed a lot of self-control really cause computers are my thing and I kind of hate mysteries. A computer full of bullet holes is like crack. Or mint chocolate chip ice cream. That’s my favorite. The ice cream not the crack. You can ask Glen here. About the mysteries part, I mean. I called his daughter in Baltimore just to find out his birthday. It’s March 15,” she freezes and shakes her head. “You probably didn’t need to know that. Point is I didn’t look. Also these muffins are for you. Cranberry. They’re from the coffee shop across the street. I was going to get you coffee to go with my I-stole-your-already-stolen-laptop apology. I mean, I don’t know it’s stolen for sure. The bullet holes kind of give it away, but I’m sure there’s a story. One I don’t need to know. Please just take the computer and the apology muffins.” She thrusts both into his hands and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry there’s no coffee. Like I said, it’s a long story.” 

 

She hands all of it over to Oliver. Their fingers brush across the top of the bakery bag and Oliver’s gaze lingers on her brightly painted nails. Thea would have an opinion on how they coordinate with her lips, but Oliver can only think that he likes the flash of color. Glen clears his throat and Oliver feels chastised. He looks over his shoulder to see the security guard eyeing him with a raised brow. When he turns back Felicity is gone. On the other side of the lobby an elevator door closes and Oliver blinks. 

 

“How does she do that?” he asks and the only answer is the sound of Glen turning another page in his paper. 

 

***

 

_“Felicity, honey. It’s your mom. I know what tomorrow is and I wanted to call and see how you’re doing. I know you said I don’t need to use up my vacation time to come see you be sad I want you to know I will. Gladly. I love you baby. Call me.”_

 

***

 

Oliver looks for Felicity Smoak the next day, but she feels like an apparition. Her officemate, a scowling woman named Lisa, claims Felicity called in sick, and her department head, Mr. Collins, rants that she should be fired. Yet, Walter admired her, and clearly Glen-the-security-guard is fiercely loyal. Oliver is surprised to find himself jealous of her. 

 

More than jealous, however, Oliver is impressed with her intelligence. Felicity Smoak is clearly smart. Very smart. He picked up every sheet of paper that flew into the air when he and Felicity collided, but couldn’t make sense of most of it. 

 

“She’s the future, Oliver,” Walter says over dinner that night. 

 

Oliver sips the scotch and gives his mother a raised eyebrow. Moira is the perfect Mona Lisa with a smile that beguiles and hides what she’s truly thinking. Last year, Oliver made his feelings clear when he refused to come home for his mother’s wedding, and since his return home he and Walter have both been on their best behavior toward one another for the sake of Moira. 

 

Oliver sets down his scotch and shrugs. “Walter, I can’t figure out how to get my calendar to sync on my phone, and even I, a technological luddite, can see Felicity Smoak is brilliant with computers, and those proposals show a creative technical mind brimming with ideas,”Oliver sets down his glass and settles back into his chair with a practiced ease. He’s learned that the posture of authority masks for real confidence, and it’s a skill he’s honed over the last five years. When it came to business everyone wears a mask.

 

“What I can’t understand” Oliver continues, “is why is she resetting passwords for guys like me? Why isn’t she in Applied Sciences? Or RND? Or at least fire the imbecile that heads her department and let her do the job.” 

 

Moira sighs.

 

“Oliver, there is more to running a company than moving resources around strategically.” Walter says, “Felicity was a name recommended to me so I took the time to get to know her, and the answer to your question isn’t as simple as you’d like to make it.”

 

“I think it is. She’s QC’s employee so move her to where she belongs. 

 

Walter coughs, “Oliver, you’ve expanded Queen Consolidated’s scope with ruthless ambition over the course of the last few years. We’re a growing force in international markets your father only dreamed of breaking into -,” 

 

“Don’t tell me about my father.” 

 

“Oliver.” 

 

It’s a gentle admonishment from Moira. She sips her wine, and settles back into her chair. 

 

Both men sit up. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Walter says, “I never mean to overstep.” 

 

Oliver says nothing. He takes another sip of the scotch, and feels the burn in his throat. During his time away he grew out of habitual drinking, and now curtails himself to prevent any loss of control. Scotch had been his father’s drink; Russian vodka was his, but he is in Starling and appearances are easier than the truth. 

 

“Your point…?” Oliver says. 

 

“My point is that blunt force may have expanded Queen Consolidated, but you’ve returned home now. You asked to take over the day-to-day business of the company, and I’m happy to step aside. The place is rightfully yours, but know how the company runs day-to-day is the linchpin in any legacy. It builds a foundation that will outlast any single acquisition. That requires a deft hand and the patience to foster your brightest talent. It’s not a zero sum game.” 

 

“Oliver,” Moira says, “he’s saying be patient.” 

 

“With Felicity Smoak?” 

 

Walter shakes his head, “With all of it. Her. The company. Yourself.” 

 

Oliver can feel the scotch in his veins and that’s usually his sign to stop, but moving home isn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. He has no interest in advice on how to live his life; he is the person the last five years had made him into and that is the simple fact. 

 

*** 

 

_“Felicity, it’s Iris. Barry’s moping cause you won’t pick up the phone so I get to play bad cop. Call one of us back. I will come to Starling and I will bring Caitlin and we will sit outside your door until you open up. You don’t have to talk to me or her. I know Barry and you go way back. But you gotta talk to someone. I know the date sucks, but you’re not facing it alone. Talk to someone.”_

 

***

 

“Mr. Diggle?” 

 

John Diggle looks at Oliver in the rear view mirror as he drives them both from the mansion into the city. It’s raining out and still dark because the sun has yet to rise. The predawn hours are one of the things Oliver discovered about himself while abroad the last five years. It’s his favorite time of day. He appreciates the emptiness and hazy gray light. It gives him the feeling of space. 

 

Growing up, Oliver resented the way his life felt prescribed to him:befriend the children of his parent’s peers, attend his father’s alma matter, and someday take over Queen Consolidated. There was a plan for the son and heir before there was a son, and when Oliver realized that as a teenager he’d bristled against it. He slept with women dating the sons of his mother’s friends; he failed out of his father’s alma matter and all the other schools his parents pulled strings for him to attend. He scoffed at the company that funded his selfishness. He undermined that future in every possible way, and though Oliver isn’t that person anymore he still feels the panic and anger when reminded of how little space he has within his own life. 

 

It all culminated in that night atop the new Queen Consolidated building - his father’s pride and joy - with what was supposed to be an epic party the night before the building’s grand opening gala. It was supposed to be a bawdy joke. Oliver remembers that night Tommy said he had the biggest balls in the city as they bribed security guards to look the other way.

 

What had been a stunt changed when that woman died; her remains landed in the plaza right in front of Queen Consolidated’s main entrance. The next day, instead of a ribbon cutting to officially open the building, the police tacked up their yellow crime scene tape, and Oliver’s life changed forever. After that night Oliver planned on never moving back to Starling or returning to his mother’s house, but there is one person in this world for whom he would break those promises to himself—Thea. 

 

His baby sister is following down the same road he once walked, and Oliver will do everything in his capacity to stop her. Even if that means moving back to Starling, occupying his old room, and taking a new position within the company. Oliver anticipated all of this and counted it an easy sacrifice. What he hadn’t anticipated was how damn lonely the whole thing is, or that in Starling that loneliness rings louder than it ever did when he was abroad. 

 

“Mr. Diggle, I need you to help me track down a woman,” Oliver says. 

 

“From what I hear you have no problem doing that on your own.” 

 

Oliver huffs and catches the smirk on John Diggle’s face as he merges the town car into traffic. 

 

“Her name is Felicity Smoak, and she works at QC.” 

 

“What do you want from her?” 

 

“Do you know her?” 

 

“I’ve driven her home a few times. Back before you came home and I was assigned to you full-time. She works late a lot and Glen’ll have me drive her so she doesn’t have to take the bus. Lives down in the Glades.” 

 

That’s the most conversational John Diggle has been in a month of working with Oliver. The man may not say much, but his disapproval of Oliver echoed in every _yes, sir_. 

 

“My intentions are honest,” he says, “I promise.” 

 

“Mmmmhum.” 

 

Oliver clears his throat, “I need you to track her down. She called in sick on Friday.” 

 

“It’s Sunday.” 

 

“So?” 

 

“Whatever you need from her, can’t it wait until tomorrow morning?” 

 

Oliver thinks of the laptop locked up in the safe in his office, and his father’s notebook tucked inside his desk at home. He may have returned to Starling for Thea, but he intends to set things right too. He’s going to do what his father couldn’t and maybe once he does that — then maybe he’ll finally be free to be his own person. 

 

“No, it can’t.” Oliver says, “I know you have special forces training. I think you can find a blond IT girl.” 

 

*** 

 

_“Felicity Smoak, this is Oliver Queen. Call me.”_

 

_***_

 

Diggle bet Oliver twenty that she wouldn’t show up, and when the two men step into Canaries to find it nearly empty Oliver is afraid the other man is right. 

 

“Try asking her to do you a favor instead of ordering her.” Diggle said earlier in the day when Oliver’s first message left on Felicity’s cell went unanswered. 

 

“I do own the company she works for.” 

 

Diggle raised an eyebrow at the laptop on Oliver’s desk riddled in bullet holes. “I’m sure it’s company business.” 

 

Oliver glowered, but his body guard and driver was already exiting the glass walled office to take up his usual spot in the waiting area outside. For an hour Oliver ignored the man’s advice. He read reports and emails to distract himself from the cell phone sitting silent on his desk. 

 

When Diggle came to drop off the lunch Oliver’s assistant ordered for them he overheard Oliver’s second, more polite voicemail requesting Felicity join him at Canaries that evening for a business meeting. 

 

“I thought you’d be better at this,” Diggle laughed and settled down in the chair next to Oliver’s desk. He pushed the cashews to the side of his salad and crossed one leg over the other. 

 

“At what?” 

 

“Women.” 

 

Oliver huffed. “This isn’t about a woman.” 

 

Diggle ate silently and Oliver waited. He knew men like John Diggle. Honorable and principled. The world needed more like him, and Oliver found himself jealous he couldn’t be counted among them. 

 

“Oliver, I don’t know exactly what you’re up to, but I know it’s off the books. I’ve noticed the times you slip out, and the way you always look at that painting when you walk into this office -,” Diggle nodded to the abstract monstrosity hanging behind Oliver’s desk, “because your safe is behind it. That’s where this came from,” he gestured to the laptop with his fork, “and I think you’re desperate for someone to join you in whatever this…mission…is.” 

 

“I can protect her.” 

 

Diggle leveled his gaze at Oliver, “You’re asking her to get involved with some pretty dangerous stuff.”

 

“Are you offering to join us?” 

 

“You haven’t convinced her yet. Hell, there’s a good chance she’ll stand you up.” Diggle chuckled, “Oliver Queen stood up by an IT girl.” 

 

Oliver folded his hands in his lap, “I’m trying to set things right.” 

 

“That’s the vaguest explanation I’ve ever heard.” 

 

“So are you in?” 

 

“In for what, Oliver?” 

 

But Oliver wasn’t ready to answer that question yet. He settles for a different kind of honesty. “You’re right John. When I say I can protect her I mean I have money, which usually is enough. But what I’m attempting to do is full of unknowns. I may not be able to take someone down like you can, but I’m good at what I do so when I say I’ll keep her safe I mean it.” 

 

Diggle finished his salad, and now ate the cashews one at a time. “What is it exactly that you do?” 

 

“I convince people that it’s in their best interest to comply.” 

 

“Is that what you’re gonna do to Felicity Smoak?” 

 

Oliver chuckled, “Something tells me if I do you’ll use some of that special forces training on me.” 

 

“She’s a good person.” 

 

“And someone you’ve taken a personal interest in?” 

 

Diggle held up his right hand, “Just took the ring off. Gotta get over the last one before I move on. I’m not interested in Felicity Smoak for any reason besides she seems like she could use a friend.” 

 

“Maybe she could use two.” 

 

Diggle laughed, “You’re so full of shit.” 

 

Now as he stands in the doorway of Canaries, Oliver is fully aware of how true Diggle’s words are. He had planned on doing this alone, but it’s been a month and the truth is he needs help. He’s done his homework on both John and Felicity. It was on purpose he brought that laptop out this afternoon for John to stare at through the glass wall between them; for the same reason he asked the man to track down Felicity. He’s taking a calculated risk, but this is what Oliver does. He sees potential and makes it happen. 

 

Reading between the lines Oliver knows that there is _something_ in Felicity’s past that has left her skittish. Her personnel record is terribly thin, and Oliver respects her technical prowess enough to know that she’s responsible for that fact. He respects the right for other people to have secrets; though if they are going to work together she’s going to need to tell him eventually. But like every company he’s approached to acquire, Oliver knows it will take time. 

 

He chose Canaries because he remembers the bag of baked goods Felicity pressed into his hands along with the laptop earlier in the week. He hopes a spot she frequents will make her more comfortable. That is if she shows up. It’s not lost on Oliver that he hasn’t been this nervous since Russia and the first deal he negotiated with Anatoly. That had ended in vodka and a wild night with a red-haired woman Oliver couldn’t understand. He doubts tonight will go that way. 

 

“Welcome to Canaries. We’re here to make your day better.” 

 

Oliver bites back a smile. The woman behind the counter wears a name tag that reads Sara, and he likes the way her smile brings out a dimple in her chin. 

 

“That’s a big promise,” Oliver says. 

 

Diggle snorts. 

 

Sara tips her head, “You look familiar.” 

 

Oliver jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “I own the building across the street.” 

 

The smile fades from Sara’s face. It’s subtle and she recovers quickly, but when she pastes the smile back it doesn’t bring out the dimples again. Oliver notices the difference. 

 

“Sara, I’ll take this one. Nyssa is asking for you in the back.” 

 

There is a resemblance between the two women. The second wears a name tag that reads Laurel, and her hair is highlighted blond whereas the first is naturally blond. There’s a half-beat where they lock eyes and Oliver imagines there is a silent conversation happening between them. But then it is over and Sara backs away from the register. The second woman, Laurel, arches an eyebrow at Oliver. 

 

“What’s your order?” 

 

“Coffee. Black.” 

 

“That sounds about right.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Nothing.” 

 

Then she takes Diggle’s order and Oliver it sure to ask for a dozen of the muffins of the day to take home…

 

_(Somehow despite the rain the chalk board sign outside still reads:_ **_Come on in and try the WORST muffins that one guy on Yelp ever had in his life._ ** _It makes Oliver smile.)_

 

_…_ and just as he starts to ask for it to go because Diggle is right Felicity Smoak isn’t going to show up the door chimes the song of a canary and in she walks. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up early in the New Year! Happy reading and if you please, leave a comment. They're like a bell ringing. A metaphorical angel receives wings.


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